


Kill Me Slowly

by safiraneo



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Undead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-26 23:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safiraneo/pseuds/safiraneo
Summary: Jaskier isn't exactly happy to dig himself out of his own grave. In fact, he'd very much like to go back in it. Unfortunately, Destiny has other plans.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 58
Kudos: 332





	1. The Town's Terror

An icy wind bit at Eskel’s nose as he entered a tiny town and made a beeline straight for the inn. He didn’t usually stop here on his trek up to Kaer Morhen, but coin was running low, winter was growing close, and the rumors of some horror or other terrorizing this town managed to reach his ears. Seeing as no deaths featured in the stories, he was hoping for an easy job.

“Whatcha want?” the inn keeper sighed from across the bar.

“A room for the night. And directions to the alderman.” Eskel grunted out.

The keeper squinted suspiciously. “You a witcher then?”

“Aye.”

“Hmm. Ten silver for the room. And the alderman lives in that house with the brown shutters.”

The room was probably not worth the price, but never let it be said Eskel was a complainer. He swapped the silver for a key and trudged up the stairs to toss his bag on the barely-a-bed with a loud thump before braving the wind again.

The alderman’s “house” was not much more than a shack and the door nearly fell off its hinges when he knocked. Luckily, the alderman didn’t seem to bothered, more invested in the witcher than his door.

“Heard you got monster troubles.” Eskel greeted.

“Yer a witcher then? And ya can get rid of it?”

“If you tell me what I’m facing and have enough coin to make it worth facing.”

The alderman did, indeed, have enough coin to make just about any creature worth facing. Eskel’s surprise must have shown on his face.

“We’re a tiny town, but we’re willing to pay just about anything to get that thing gone. It hasn’t killed anyone yet, but its been watching and testing us enough- picked off some of our livestock and practically played with the farmers that went after it. We can read the writing on the wall- it’ll probably take the whole town when it decides to attack.” The alderman finished his speech by placing a heavy purse in Eskel’s hand.

“Half now, half after its gone.”

“Deal.” Eskel grunted.

It wasn’t until he was already deep in the forest with nothing but a few potions and his swords that he realized the alderman hadn’t actually given him any information on the creature itself.

\------------------------------------

After about half an hour of trying to track the unknown creature, Eskel caught movement in a clearing up ahead- too fluid to be natural, but not especially quick. He drew his silver sword and crept silently to the edge of the foliage.

Or, he thought he moved silently.

“I know you’re there, witcher. It’s ok. You can come out.” Said a voice, far too close for comfort.

“You first.” He demanded. Close or not, he’d be damned if he simply walked into a creature’s trap.

But to his surprise, the creature stepped fully into the clearing, humming a little as it did so. It looked human- almost. The silver-gray skin and the blood red eyes kind of ruined the effect, but between the dirtied doublet and lute in its hand, it could’ve been mistaken as a bard from a distance.

“Now you, witcher.” The creature looked right at him, seemingly amused.

Eskel stepped out of his would-be hiding place, sword raised and ready to defend.

“You the thing terrorizing the town?” He asked.

“That would be me, yes.” The creature replied, an odd expression tugging at the edge of its eyes. Eskel might call it relief if he didn’t know better.

“…Why?”

The not-bard actually sat down on the grass, legs splaying and lute gentle set aside, as if it didn’t have a sword pointed at it.

“Oh, you know. Preparing to eat them all at some point.” Was it being sarcastic?

Eskel took a moment to card through all the monsters he knew, trying to pinpoint just what he was talking to and if his sword would even be effective. Was it a vampire? No- the coloring was off. Maybe some kind of undead? Probably, but that didn’t exactly narrow down what would kill it.

“Well?” Said undead prompted from the ground. “Hello in there… I know witchers are a dense lot, but this is where you start stabbing or whatever.”

“What are you?” Eskel blurted out, finally coming up empty.

“Isn’t that your job? Figure out what the monster is, how to kill it, yadda yadda. I swear, I’m putting in all the work here.” The creature tossed its hands up in frustration.

“All the work?” Eskel took a few steps closer, lowering his sword until it was inches away from the thing’s head. It didn’t flinch. In fact, it tilted its head closer and upwards until the sword was between its eyes and it was looking up at Eskel.

“Yes- all the work. Honestly. The easiest job you’ll ever get and you don’t even know what I am.” It huffed, “And I can tell you silver daggers don’t work. Neither does drowning, suffocation, burning, or blood loss.”

“What the fuck.” Eskel, in a move that could’ve ended his life in any other situation, dropped his sword to his side and took a step back.

“Come on, witcher.” It sighed, “This is taking forever. Use all that monster knowledge. Kill me, get the reward, and you can go skipping the rest of the way up to Kaer Morhen. Aren’t you supposed kill first, ask questions later?”

“How the fuck do you know about Kaer Morhen?”

“ _That’s_ what you got out of that?? Not the ‘kill first’ bit?”

“You’re a bard?” Eskel hazarded. Whatever undead thing this was, hadn’t actually killed anyone yet. In fact, the only harm it seemed to have wrought was to livestock, not even taking the previous opening to attack. It also had some kind of intelligence. If he played his cards right, it was possible Eskel could just convince it to leave and collect his payment without blood in his hair.

“Yes. Well…” The bard reached out, gently running a hand over its lute. “Not any more, I suppose. I’d have to be human for that.”

“So why keep the lute?” The witcher pressed.

“Well I wasn’t about to let her rot in the ground without me.”

Bards were bards even beyond death it seemed… or at least into undeath.

“But that is beside the point!” The creature suddenly sprang to its feet, unnaturally smooth, causing Eskel to tense. “You’re being paid to kill me, are you not? So just. Just- _do it already_!”

“Technically, I was hired to ‘get rid’ of you. No one has to die here.” Eskel aimed for a gentle and convincing tone.

“Oh no you don’t!” The undead bard growled out. “I put far too much work into this. Do you know how hard it is to even find a town on the path to Kaer Morhen? Let alone scare the whole damn thing enough to get them to hire a thrice damned _witcher_?”

Eskel stood, stunned at the angry and ruffled being waving his hands about.

“I have tried fucking _everything_ and you are _supposed_ to put me back in the ground, where I _fucking_ _belong_. So you better get to it or I swear I will follow you wherever you go and sing about nothing but your body odor.”

“You couldn’t keep up.” Eskel replied faintly, still processing what was being shouted at him.

“Oh no? Ask your brother how hard I am to get rid of- it took him _decades_.” The creature seethed.

And didn’t that just bring everything to a screeching halt?

“You’re Geralt’s bard. What’s his face- Jaskier.” The witcher sheathed his blade and put his hands up in what he hoped was a placating manner. Fucking hell, Geralt was going to have an aneurism.

“I am not Geralt’s _anything_!” Jaskier snapped, teeth now bared and shoulders hunched as if to protect himself from a non-existent blow.

“Ok.” Eskel agreed quickly. “Ok. Just. Shit. I- well I can’t kill you.” Jaskier’s resulting sharp and bewildered glare had him amending, “I don’t know how to kill you.” And then hurrying on, “I don’t know what you are other than some kind of undead and if stabbing, burning, or drowning doesn’t work, I’m not sure what will.”

“Great.” Jaskier’s whole form seemed to shrink in disappointment. “What do I do now?” He murmured to himself.

 _My better judgment must have up and left me for this, but fuck if I can’t kill him, then I can’t just leave him here._ Eskel thought.

“Well… I _am_ headed up to Kaer Morhen. You could come with me.” The witcher offered. “There’s a huge library there and its got at least one book on every kind of monster and how to kill it. You could even meet up with Geralt.”

“I’d rather just try tossing myself off a cliff again than see _him_.” Jaskier snorted.

“Alright, well, he’s usually the last to arrive for the winter. If we move quickly, we’ll have a few weeks at least before he shows up. You can be either dead or gone by then.” Eskel had no idea what Geralt did to piss off the bard enough that he didn’t want to see him even after death, but sincerely hoped it wouldn’t become a factor in _his_ near future.

“Fine.” Jaskier sighed after a minute, then bent to pick up his lute. “But if he does show up, I’m tearing out his throat.”

 _This is a bad idea._ Eskel mourned.


	2. Enter Kaer Morhen

Negotiating with the alderman was tricky to say the least. He wasn’t best pleased when Eskel walked back into town with Jaskier in tow and not remotely credulous when they both tried to assure him that the bard wouldn’t be eating anyone or coming back. Ultimately, he relinquished the rest of the promised coin so long as they left immediately and swore that if Jaskier showed back up, the townsfolk had the right to drag _any_ witcher in the region over to deal with him free of charge.

“The other witchers aren’t going to like that.” Jaskier muttered as they made their way to collect Eskel’s things from the inn.

“They’ll never find out as long as you don’t go scaring townsfolk again.” The witcher grunted back.

“Hmm.” Jaskier hummed, not fully believing Eskel.

“You’ve definitely spent too much time around Geralt.”

The bard’s returning silence was as cold as the wind biting at their noses.

The trip up to Kaer Morhen should’ve taken another two weeks at the very least with a human, but thanks to Jaskier’s remarkable endurance and rather terrifying ability to hunt whatever they needed quickly, the two made it in half that time.

As they approached the keep, Eskel glanced up at the walls nervously. Vesemir had a nasty habit of knowing when something was awry and he wasn’t sure how he’d react to one of his pupils bringing back a creature- Geralt’s bard or not.

“What’s he gonna do? Kill me?” Jaskier mused when Eskel tried to warn him.

“Eskel.” Vesemir’s voice rang out from the open gate. “You brought a friend.”

“Errr… kind of.” Decades on the Path could never prepare him for facing his old teacher.

“We’re trying to figure out how to kill me.” Jaskier chirped. Over the course of the past few days, he grew more cheerful, going as far as to compose an ode to odors while insisting that Eskel was absolutely not the inspiration for it.

“You’re already dead- we’re trying to kill you again.” Eskel corrected before glancing back up at Vesemir. “Er.. Once we figure out what he is, I’m sure it’ll be easy. He won’t be here long.”

The old witcher stared at his pupil and the undead creature he brought home. _Like a child bringing home a stray._ He thought unbidden, certain there was a headache brewing.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell your brothers about him. And he has to do chores as long as he’s here.”

“Done!” Jaskier answered, pretending he was the one addressed. “Thank you for your hospitality! I assure you, I fully intend to be out of your hair within the month.”

“Wouldn’t want to run into Geralt- might have to tear his throat out.” Eskel joked, hoping the bard might react to the mention of the White Wolf’s name with something other than ire.

Vesemir just raised an eyebrow.

“You brought home Geralt’s bard.” He deadpanned.

“I’m not Geralt’s anything.” Jaskier’s voice flattened, good mood gone.

_Damn it._ Eskel sighed.

“They had a falling out.” He offered up.

“Clearly.” Vesemir glanced at the bard.

“How about someone point me to this library? You know- so you don’t have a member of the undead stalking the halls all winter.” Jaskier huffed.

“Follow me. Eskel, you go unpack and relax. Work begins tomorrow at dawn.” Without looking back to make sure the bard followed, Vesemir turned and walked into the keep.

“And close the gates!”

\----------------------------------

The next few days saw Jaskier alternating between researching, hunting, and helping to winterize the keep. Around day four Vesemir cornered him in the library and forced a stack of clothes on him, all dark grays and blacks.

“You’re still wearing the blood from yesterday’s hunt.” He insisted when Jaskier tried to refuse.

“And you stink.” Eskel chimed in from behind a bookstack. “You’re starting to emanate that ode to odors you’re so fond of singing.”

“There are hot springs you could use to bathe in. And soap.” Vesemir continued. “There is plenty of soap.”

Jaskier squawked, equal parts insulted and embarrassed, grabbing the clothes and holding them away from his bloodied doublet.

“Have you bathed at all since you dragged yourself out of your grave?” Eskel asked.

“Yes, because whoever buried me was kind enough to put soap in my pockets.” The bard’s sarcasm dripped from every word.

“You don’t know who buried you?” The younger witcher pushed, clearly aiming for a nonchalant tone and failing.

“I don’t remember anything.” Jaskier replied, staring at the fabric in his hands. “Not even how I died or how I got out of my grave. I just came to covered in dirt beside a giant hole that my lute was still half-buried in and an overwhelming feeling of just. _Wrong_.”

“Which is why you want to be dead again.” Vesemir guessed.

“ _Something_ is very very Wrong. If it’s not the fact that I’m alive when I’m not supposed to be, then I don’t know what it is.”

“You’re not alive, you’re undead.” Eskel cut in.

“Which probably still explains the Wrong, but not the memory lapse.”

“…Go bathe.” Vesemir sighed, signaling the end of the conversation. “We can discuss this more when you’re not encrusted in dirt and blood. And by the way-“ He stopped Jaskier as the bard moved to leave the room. “Unless I’m mistaken, Lambert just arrived.”

“Shit.” Eskel swore as the sounds of someone yelling about opening the damned gate floated in through the window. He hurried down to the courtyard, calling over his shoulder “I’ll warn him about your undead ass, so go wash it!”

Over an hour later, Jaskier emerged from the hot springs clean and wearing the most depressing clothes he’d ever worn.

_Why all witchers feel the need to dress like rainclouds is beyond me_. He thought.

“Damn. Eskel really did bring Geralt’s undead bard home.” A voice by his ear said.

“Nice try.” Jaskier didn’t startle or flinch. “You have the loudest footsteps out of all the witchers I know. Also I’m not-”

“Geralt’s anything. Yeah, yeah, Eskel said that too.” Lambert, disappointedly slunk to lean against the wall a few paces away. “I guess that’s why you’re wearing his old clothes instead of Geralt’s.”

“I’m not _Eskel’s_ anything either. Vesemir was the one who picked these.”

“Yikes. You must’ve smelled like a horse’s ass, then.” Lambert smirked.

“Well they did both practically throw a bar of soap at me.” Jaskier reluctantly agreed. “And they’ll probably do the same to you, if you don’t try and scrub some of that off.” He waved his hand at Lambert’s own encasing of dirt.

“And forgo the chance to be the inspiration of your next odorous ode?” 

“There’s no way Eskel admitted to that.”

“No, but Vesemir was all too happy to recite a verse for me.”

“ _Vesemir_??” Jaskier’s incredulity made his voice go up an octave and Lambert cackled.

“This is going to be a fun winter.” He chuckled.

“I’m not going to be around more than a month.” Jaskier argued.

“So you’ve managed to find out how to off yourself then?” The witcher raised his eyebrows, clearly already aware of the answer so the damning silence that followed didn’t stop his next question. “How about what you are?” More silence. “You’re gonna be here longer than you think little bird.”

“I could kill you if I wanted to.” Jaskier warned.

Lambert shrugged. “So could Vesemir. And maybe Eskel, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“It’s a miracle you’re not dead.”

“It’s a miracle you’re undead.”

“Are you two going to stand in the hallway all day?” Vesemir appeared just behind Lambert, causing him to jump.

“ _Shit_.” The younger witcher turned accusing eyes to Jaskier. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss my first chance to see a startled witcher? _Never_.” Oh, they were definitely going to be friends, the bard decided, while he was here at least.

\-------------------------------

Adding Lambert to the daily rigmarole was remarkably seamless. _Although_ , Jaskier mused, _I suppose I’m the odd element here._ However, the witcher also brought a new kind of chaos with him.

“Why don’t we just start trying shit and see what sticks?” Lambert asked after an hour of not-reading the book in front of him.

“I did that at first.” Jaskier responded, somewhat distracted by actually reading his book. “I can still feel pain to some degree and being stuck tied to a rock at the bottom of a river isn’t my idea of a fun afternoon.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got us now. We can come down and cut you free if you don’t drown in like an hour. Oh! Did you try decapitation?”

Which is how, a half hour later, Eskel came to find Jaskier and Lambert arguing about whether it would be better to use an ax or a silver sword to remove the bard’s head. And how, three hours later, Vesemir came to find all three of them in the courtyard with a myriad of weapons haphazardly strewn about and not a single cut on Jaskier’s neck.

“If all three of you are here, who’s peeling the potatoes for dinner?” The old witcher called.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been out hunting this whole time.” Jaskier made a beeline for the gates.

“And I’ve been shoring up that crack in the south wall.” Eskel moved quickly in said direction.

“Traitors!” Lambert yelled after them.

“Pick all this up, Lambert. And then you’re on potato duty for the rest of the night.” Vesemir eyed his previous pupil with amusement. Some time with a tedious task might help him remember that patience is a virtue and research is a necessary skill.

Thus, the comfortable rhythm of life at Kaer Morhen lulled Jaskier into a false sense of security. He still spent time researching his existence and possible means of death- even though his “helpers” quickly turned into “hinderers” and he had to kick the lot of them out of the library more than once. But, he also went about doing chores and composing and performing songs for the other inhabitants, ironically managing to bring life to dinners and lengthening evenings. Time passed so easily that he didn’t notice the month come to a close.


	3. Arrival

The trek up to Kaer Morhen was harder than usual. Ciri endured what she could, but a human child, even a powerful one, can only withstand so much before having to rest. Not for the first time, Geralt wished the wards on Kaer Morhen allowed for Yennefer to simply portal them into the keep. Or at least close enough to make climbing the mountain a moot point.

“Are we there yet?” Ciri asked once again from Roach’s back.

“Almost.” Yennefer saved Geralt from himself. As tired as he was, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t snap at Ciri for the repeated questioning.

“Look.” He grunted, pointing at the looming keep that finally revealed itself from the confines of the woods around them.

“Finally!” Ciri cheered.

Vesemir must have heard them coming up the path, because the gates creaked open as they approached to reveal... not just his old teacher but his brothers too. That was unusual.

“Ah.” Vesemir said when he saw the small party entering the keep. “I see Eskel isn’t the only one who brought a friend this winter.”

“Eskel brought a friend?” Geralt asked, slightly bewildered.

“Hello!” Ciri waved, exhaustion melting away at the appearance of the knowledge that they were, in fact, there yet.

The next few minutes consisted of introductions and Geralt giving a more than just slightly abridged version of events that led him to bring a fugitive princess and a sorceress to Kaer Morhen. All the while Eskel and Lambert would share glances with each other and then back across the courtyard.

“You’re all welcome to remain the winter here.” Vesemir said after Geralt fell silent. “But there is something you should know.” He looked pointedly at Eskel.

“Your friend?” Geralt guessed.

“Kind of.” Eskel was rather at a loss for words. He hadn’t anticipated a child and a sorceress to factor into the situation and was uncertain of how to proceed.

“He brought home an undead creature.” Lambert added when Eskel didn’t go on.

“He what?” Geralt thought Kaer Morhen would be safe for Ciri. A place she wouldn’t have to worry about soldiers or monsters.

“He’s well behaved.” Eskel defended, unaware he was making Jaskier sound more like a pet he picked up than an intelligent being with his own free will. “He’s been here over a month and has done nothing but help with chores. He’s happy enough stick around and not cause a commotion as long as we help figure out how to put him back in his grave.”

“And we’ve been trying.” Lambert hurried to reassure Geralt, who looked like he was about to either start screaming or pop a vein. “No one knows what he is or how to kill him- not even him.”

“Geralt.” Vesemir chided. “He’s as much a guest in this keep as your friends are and you will treat him as such.” He looked at Yennefer. “And I don’t expect any additional fighting, either.”

Yennefer nodded, unhappy to be sharing living space with something undead, but willing to suffer it silently if it meant Ciri would be safe and they could continue their magic lessons uninhibited. The little princess was getting stronger by the day and could hurt herself or someone else if she didn’t learn how to control the Chaos quickly.

“Yes sir.” Geralt deflated. He was tired from the journey and this news only served to set his nerves on edge.

_Fuck_. He thought. _I really need to get some sleep._

“There’s more.” Lambert prompted Eskel, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

“What?” Geralt growled.

_What else could there be?_ He sighed, aggravated. 

“Eskel! Lambert! I think I found something that might work. It’s technically for getting rid of this weird rare vampire monster, but it might work for me.” An all too familiar voice rang out.

“No.” Tiredness gone, replaced by certain dread.

Jaskier entered the courtyard, unnaturally smooth movements highlighting silver-gray skin.

“No? What do you mean n-“ The bard looked up from the book in his hand, blood red eyes glancing up, only to stop in his tracks.

He took in the sight of Geralt, frozen and staring at him with pure horror written across his face. Then, he saw Yennefer and Ciri, looking for all the world like the three of them were the perfect little family. Jaskier didn’t realize an undead heart could stop beating.

He turned around and walked away.

“That could’ve gone better.” Lambert broke the silence.

“It also could’ve gone worse.” Vesemir offered up. “At least there was no throat tearing.”

Eskel cleared his own throat. “I’ll uhh… well. I’ll go see about Jaskier, if you could help them settle in.” He nodded at Lambert, who could tell that there were no good choices here. It was either deal with an irate undead or an exhausted and angry Geralt.

“Yeah…” At least dealing with Geralt also meant chatting with a beautiful and terrifying sorceress.

“Was that Jaskier the bard?” Ciri reached out to poke at Geralt. “He used to sing at my birthday every year.” Because of course he did. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” The white haired witcher choked out.

And wasn’t that the heart of the matter?

Geralt tried so hard not to think about that day on the mountain. About the things he said to someone who didn’t deserve them. About the person he said them to.

It seems he succeeded. Succeeded enough to dismiss the empty space and silence that followed him down the Path. Succeeded enough to not notice when rumors of the famous bard’s sudden disappearance made their rounds through the continent. Succeeded enough to _not be there_ when Jaskier needed him most.

And now Jaskier was dead.

And Geralt had no idea what happened.

“He’s not dead dead, Geralt.” Yennefer snapped at him and started to drag him and Ciri along after Lambert. “He’s only mostly dead, so get your head out of your ass and stop gawking at empty air. I need food and an actual night’s sleep. You can start groveling tomorrow.”

\-------------------

“We should’ve told you when he arrived.” Eskel started in a sort of half-apology.

“Yeah, you should have.” Jaskier bit back, shoving the book he almost tore apart after leaving the courtyard back on the shelf. “I’m leaving.”

“And go where?” The witcher sighed. “And do what?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I wasn’t even supposed to be here when he showed up and I’m definitely not going to stick around to watch him be a happy family with his sorceress and his Child Surprise. _Shit_.” An entire shelf buckled and splintered under the bard’s grip dropping its contents onto the floor.

“You’re clearly well in control of your strength.” Eskel snorted. “And certainly not going to go terrifying any more towns.”

“Shut up.” Jaskier growled as he reached down to gather the books. “Just because Geralt finally gave in to _Destiny_ doesn’t mean I have to be here when it happens.”

“Oh, Destiny is it? If that’s what brought the three of them together then what dropped your undead ass in my way?” Eskel didn’t bother to try and help pick up the mess at his feet.

“ _Me_. I died, I un-died, and I wanted to re-die. I couldn’t manage it by myself so I put my undead ass in _your_ way so _you_ could do it.”

“Right. Right. Because of that overwhelming feeling of Wrong. And how is that, by the way?”

Jaskier stood, moving the books in his arms to the nearest unbroken shelf, putting them in at random, and resolutely ignoring the witcher.

“Still overwhelming?” Eskel pushed. “Because I’m pretty sure you nearly tore up a book with a very promising way of killing yourself off.”

Silence.

“Hmmm…” The witcher hummed, letting the quiet sink in.

“If I promise not to leave will you stop it with the grossly insightful questions?” Jaskier finally broke and asked through gritted teeth.

“Aye, but you have to play that new song of yours tonight too. With the way the little one was looking at you, I think she’d be starstruck.”

“Deal.”


	4. Ok

Dinner was an interesting affair to say the least. Jaskier did his best to ignore Geralt. Geralt stared openly at Jaskier, gaze hardening when Eskel prompted a performance and the bard complied by singing about a very much not white-haired witcher and his battle with a griffin. Ciri was, indeed, starstruck, and asked endless questions about the story, occasionally managing to drag Lambert and Yennefer into the discussion. Vesemir chimed in from time to time to point out inaccuracies, but ultimately watched the scene unfold quietly amused.

Ciri yawned.

“I think she needs to head towards bed.” Geralt said, tearing his eyes away from Jaskier to notice his daughter’s weariness. He stood to reach for her hand.

“Mm f’ne.” Ciri yawned.

“Come on, pup, bedtime.” Yennefer took her other hand.

Jaskier stood up quickly, his unnatural movements somehow more prominent in the evening candlelight. He turn towards Eskel and Lambert and muttered something about the library before taking his leave.

He was passing Geralt, giving him as wide of a berth as possible, when the White Wolf caught a faint scent coming off him. That shirt looked familiar and far too dark for Jaskier’s usual flair.

“Are those Eskel’s clothes?” He blurted at the bard’s back, causing the bard to still.

“Would there be a problem if they were?” Jaskier asked neutrally.

Geralt just managed to grit out “No.” before the undead was out the door.

“G’r’lt?” Ciri questioned sleepily, slightly confused at how the hand not holding hers had tightened into a fist.

“Hmmm…” Geralt had many hums and this one, Ciri had learned early on, meant “I’m not interested in talking about this, let it go.” So she hummed back and walked with her adopted parents to her room.

“You really fucked up, huh?” Yennefer asked after Ciri was fast asleep.

“Yen.” Geralt growled in warning.

“I’m just saying. I know I said grovel earlier, but damn, he’s more pissed at you than I was. Groveling might not be enough.”

“Yen.”

“Although it might be a little too late. He was singing about Eskel, after all. And wearing his clothes.”

“Enough!”

If the wall they were standing by were made of anything other than stone, Geralt’s fist would have gone through it.

Yennefer was not impressed.

“Vesemir said he usually spends a couple hours in the library by himself in the late afternoon.” The sorceress pushed past Geralt’s frozen form, moving towards her room. “You know. In case you want to get a jump on that groveling. Maybe try bringing flowers; it'd be good practice for Ciri to conjure them. And- you know. Not yelling might be a good idea.”

“Hmm.”

The next day saw Jaskier trying to hide in the library. Fairly successfully, since no one bothered him for the majority of his time there.

 _It’s not like I’m avoiding Geralt._ He thought angrily. _Just giving him life’s one blessing. Me off his hands._

At that he pulled another book off the shelf and added it to his ever-growing pile. Over a month of searching through this library and he wasn’t even halfway through. It really was massive and unorganized. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the witchers of Kaer Morhen were misplacing books and making it difficult to navigate on purpose.

Footsteps approached.

They weren’t Lambert’s loud, Eskel’s gentle, or Vesemir’s quiet steps. No swish of fabric accompanied them, so not Yennefer. And they were far too heavy for Ciri.

 _Fuck_. Jaskier swore just as Geralt turned the corner.

“Jaskier.” The witcher started and then stopped.

He went ignored.

“Hmmm…” This was harder than it had been with Yennefer. At least she yelled when he tried to talk to her. The bard didn’t even acknowledge him.

“What. What happened?” He finally settled on.

This spurred something of a reaction, even if it was just the tightening of shoulder blades.

“You were human. When I last saw you.” Geralt tried again.

“What do you want, Geralt?” Jaskier asked quietly, no emotion in his voice.

“I want to know what happened.”

“And how is that any business of yours?”

“If I’m going to help I should-“ Geralt growled, only to be cut off.

“I didn’t ask for your help, Geralt. I died. I undied. And I can put myself back in my grave without you, thank you very much. I’m sure your shit pile is high enough without me shoveling.” The bard’s voice remained steady even as his hands shook slightly.

“Back in your- no. The shit thing- I. Hmmm.” There were a few too many points to address for Geralt to put together a cohesive response.

“Eskel’s helping me, anyways. So you can go back to your bard-free life.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier finally turned to stare at Geralt. Red eyes boring into yellow, unbelieving. “What do you mean, no?”

 _Yennefer was right._ The witcher thought. _I should’ve tried flowers._

“I wasn’t there. When you died. Because I was angry and- wrong.” Geralt stumbled, not breaking eye contact even though everything in him told him to look away. He had rehearsed this part all last night and he didn’t want to ruin it by talking to the wall instead of Jaskier. “I’m sorry. For what I said on the mountain. And for not apologizing sooner. I’m sorry for not being there when you died. Because I would’ve liked to try and save you or at least been there.”

Jaskier was staring at Geralt like he’d just announced he was marrying a kikimore- equal parts shocked, incredulous, and mildly horrified. Staring, undead, and still wearing his brother’s clothes. What the hell happened to the bard’s doublet? Couldn’t someone give him a different shirt at least?

_Fuck it._

“And I’d like to be the one to help you- not help put you back in your grave. But. Well...”

At this proclamation, Jaskier’s expression added confused into his mix of emotions. He opened his mouth to ask Geralt if he hit is head or if Yennefer had managed to put some kind of spell on him, but the witcher barreled on.

“You can… do what pleases you. But I’d like you to be alive to do it.” Geralt fell silent after that, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“I think you just used up your word allotment for the year.” The undead bard said vaguely. “You usually ration them.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah- like that.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt said, slightly exasperatedly.

“No! Fuck you, Geralt.” Jaskier finally snapped. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to throw me away after twenty years and then show back up with your _girlfriend_ and your _daughter_ and suddenly act like you care. I didn’t deserve your shit then and I don’t deserve it now.”

“Yennefer and I aren’t together.”

“ _That’s_ what you got out of that? You and Eskel really are brothers.”

“Please.” Geralt nearly whispered. “Let me help. We’ll find your limits- what you can and can’t do now. Find out how you can live as you are.”

He took a breath and continued, “You never deserved my shit. Give me a chance to stop shoveling it. Don’t go back to your grave. Please. Stay.”

“That’s not fair.” The bard ground out, huddled in on himself.

“Jask.” The witcher said gently. He took a slow and deliberate step towards the undead man in front of him, slowly and deliberately reaching out to touch his shoulder. Jaskier didn’t move.

“Please.” Geralt repeated. “Stay.”

There was a very long and quiet moment, where blood red eyes searched golden yellow. They weren’t sure what they were looking for exactly, but what they found was enough. More than enough.

“Ok.”

\------------------------

This was how, the next day, Ciri came to find her favorite bard easily outrunning her father despite the snow that covered the ground. Her mother sipped wine and watched from the sidelines, snuggled head to toe in fur. She went up to her.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“They’re trying to test how fast Jaskier is.” The sorceress chuckled, clearly enjoying the frustration on Geralt’s face as he failed, yet again, to win the race.

“Why?”

“Something about getting a base knowledge of his abilities.”

“Oh! Is he going to join in my training exercises?” Ciri asked, thrilled with the idea of having company.

“Maybe.” Yennefer hummed. “Speaking of training exercises, did you do the ones I assigned you?”

“Wow, would you look at how high the sun is. The day is really getting away from me- I should go do that thing.”

“What thing, little one?” The woman encased in fur asked, raising a single eyebrow. She briefly reminded Ciri of a bear- fuzzy and terrifying.

“The thing that I have to do! Bye, Yen!” The princess rushed, off to find literally anything other than sorcery exercises to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it! I've had a lot of fun writing it. :D


End file.
